


No More Mr Nice Guy

by Lilachigh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:43:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilachigh/pseuds/Lilachigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring festival in Sunnydale and The Mayor has plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Mr Nice Guy

**Author's Note:**

> My favourite villain! I love writing Richard Wilkins III

No More Mr Nice Guy!

Richard Wilkins III, Mayor of Sunnydale and, in his opinion, a really nice guy, stared at his desk calendar. He smiled: he liked the month of April. It was a sensible month containing the right number of days. Thirty was a good, round number. The Mayor scowled at the next month. May was a horrible month, having thirty-one days. In a year or two’s time, he decided, he would abolish all months with thirty-one or twenty-eight days and as for leap years – He allowed his minds to run cheerfully over what he would do with leap years and felt better.

Someone coughed and he realised his deputy was standing in front of his desk, hovering. Not that he was actually hovering, of course – the Mayor smiled faintly – now that would be a dandy sight, little feet paddling in mid-air like a duck. He sighed. He knew that only the boring are bored, but golly geez, he would have given a whole millennia of his life for a little excitement.

“Excuse me, Sir, but Principal Snyder is here to see you.”

Richard Wilkins shut his eyes briefly, but only briefly because he didn’t want to appear concerned in front of a subordinate, especially one who couldn’t hover. He’d wanted excitement, not a visit from Principal Snyder who was, without doubt, the most boring man in this universe and many others as well. 

“Well, show him in. Let’s hear what he has to complain about today.” Because there was always something! The students, the teachers, the facilities - the Mayor recalled the bills he’d had to pay recently. The damage done during the Student-Parent evening was just one example – horrendous waste of money. It was useful to have William the Bloody in town, but my, the repair bills that vampire managed to run up were unbelievable.

“Mr Mayor?”

“Principal Snyder! Welcome. Fancy a cup of coffee? Or how about a glass of milk? I always say you are never too old for milk. It grows bones and scales and – I mean bones and skin!”

The Mayor beamed and Snyder felt a cold chill run down his spine. “No thank you, Mayor. My digestion, as I think you know, is not strong and since working in Sunnydale with these dreadful young – ”

“Well, gosh, I’m sorry to hear that,” the Mayor broke in swiftly because another lecture on the workings of the Principal’s stomach was more than he could possibly bear without doing some serious damage and he’d already had this room redecorated twice this month.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about my concerns for the Spring Festival.”

The Mayor’s eyes lit up. “We’re having a festival? That’s great. I love festivals. All the flags and displays and a parade – there will be a parade?” he finished anxiously.

Principal Snyder pulled at his top lip with feverish fingers. “No, no parade, Mayor. There’s going to be a talent contest – ”

“I love talent contests!” The Mayor beamed and almost felt well disposed towards the silly little man sitting in front of him – although he did wish his head wasn’t quite so, so – oval - because he had an overwhelming desire to slice off the top, just like he did with his boiled egg at supper time. Richard Wilkins could not abide people who just tapped the egg gently with a spoon when you could slash it gloriously with a knife.

Principal Snyder hurried on. “The principals of the middle and elementary schools want us to join forces for this event, but I do not feel it is at all wise. All those little children scurrying about, making a mess, whining and crying if they don’t find an egg in the Easter egg hunt – ”

“I love Easter egg hunts!”

“Surely you’re not in favour of it going ahead?”

Richard Wilkins tilted back his chair. He knew he shouldn’t – it wasn’t time – he might spoil everything – but he was so bored! “Yes, I believe I am. And to help out, the Mayor’s office will provide the eggs. I’ll start my staff dyeing them straight away.”

When the Principal left, the Mayor made his way to the basement of the Town Hall. He loved the basement; it was dark and damp and smelt of – well, it was the smell you always got when long dead, recently dead and almost dead people and things were all stacked together into tottering, bloody heaps. But as much fun as it would have been to reorganise the remains tidily into male, female and unknown, he hurried past, with just a genial wave at someone who was still screaming.

At the end of a dark tunnel stood a chest, secured by lengths of heavy chain and a padlock. The Mayor fished in his vest pocket for the key, lifted the lid and peered inside. He’d been saving these eggs for another occasion – but he could always get more. But perhaps using all of them would be a slight case of over-kill! If you could imagine such a thing as too much kill!

Reluctantly, he picked up just one egg and lifted it to his ear, listening for the slither of baby tentacles, the chitter of tiny needle teeth that could strip flesh with the ease of a shoal of piranhas. 

He murmured soothingly and it fell silent, its infant mind terrified by what it sensed outside its shell.

The day of the Spring Festival dawned warm and fine. The staff of all three schools had been busy since sun-up, hiding eggs and wishing devoutly that they’d taken up another profession, anything that meant that didn’t have to deal with kids. But they had to admit that it helped having the eggs arrive already painted. The Mayor had even provided a special prize for anyone who found a golden egg.

By the time Richard Wilkins III arrived, the hunt was underway. He walked through the grounds, smiling genially, his inner antennae seeking out hot spots such as the Slayer. But most of all he was enjoying the crowds of children, the joyous laughter, the happiness, the fun of it all. He could only imagine how wonderful it was going to be when the special gold egg he had in his pocket was picked up. The laughter would change to screams of pure, unadulterated terror and his smile grew wider, his eyes crinkled with delight.

Because he was good – no, excellent, he didn’t believe in false modesty – at sensing distress, he was amused to discover amongst all the jollity, one echo of unhappiness. Intrigued, he hunted it down because, hey, someone unhappy could make his day. He found a young girl sitting on a flight of steps. He supposed she was about ten or eleven, with long black hair and a face like a friendly horse. She was not a pretty child: she’d been crying and her nose was running. The Mayor pulled out a handkerchief and thrust it into her hand. “Blow!” he instructed.

Amanda looked up, startled, then did as she was told. “Sobby,” she muttered, handing it back to him. “Thang you.”

“What’s the matter, little girl?”

There was a loud sniff, then, “I’m not a little girl! My name’s Amanda and I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

Richard Wilkins smiled down on the dark head that just reached his shoulder. He loved black hair on girls. Much preferred it to blonde or red. “And quite right, too. But I’m the Mayor, so talking to me is permitted.”

“I’m too tall!”

The Mayor squinted down at the thin legs, the scraped knees and feet that looked too big in the blue sneakers. “Too tall for what?”

“Just too tall. I’m miles bigger than everyone else in my year. I look like a giant.” She sniffed hard. “We’re supposed to be dressed as People from Around the World. I’m a Spanish lady. I have to wear this silly red dress with ruffles. All the kids laugh. I hate them. I HATE THEM ALL.”

“Hmm. Well, little lady, hate is a powerful weapon and not one you should use lightly.” He fingered the egg inside his pocket. He could hand it to this child and within a few hours all her problems would be over. So would she, of course. He sighed and reached out, absentmindedly, to stroke the dark hair.

Suddenly a memory rocketed into his mind – a small paragraph in the Ascension documents. A prophecy? No, more like an official comment. His plans had to include a dark-haired female human. Was this the one? He peered down at the child who was busy picking a scab off her knee. Not quite what he’d imagined. He took the golden egg out of his pocket and rolled it between his palms, enjoying the terrible panic his actions caused inside the shell. “If I could tell you how to make those mean kids pay, would you want to know?”

Amanda glanced up, startled. She knew the Mayor was a very important person and he looked kind when he smiled. But – he was a grown-up and when she heard him talk about making kids pay for being mean, she couldn’t hear any smile in his voice at all.

Suddenly she wanted to be out in the sunshine. The stairs where they were sitting seemed very, very cold. And there was a horrid smell coming from somewhere. She jumped up. “I’ve got to go.” And she was running, desperate to escape from - something – although she had no idea what that could possibly be.

The Mayor smiled regretfully. So, not the girl he was destined to meet. Well, geez, that was probably a good thing because she was very young and there just wasn’t time for him to watch over her until she grew up.

But she was still an interesting child: she had, what was the word he was searching for - ah, yes, potential. He had no doubt she would have a big future ahead of her – then he giggled. Well, she would have had a future, of course, but in a couple of years she’d be dead, as would everyone. But – and golly geez, why was there always a but in life? – just in case she proved a problem to him in the years to come -

“Amanda!” 

She hesitated, stopped and turned. The Mayor threw the golden egg towards her and felt a surge of pride when she caught it easily. “There! The golden egg. You deserve it. Go and claim your prize. Have fun. Loads of fun.”

Amanda stumbled out into the sunshine. She peered down at the egg: she knew she couldn’t keep it. That would be cheating. The Mayor was just being kind. She crouched down to where a grating led to the sewer system and dropped the egg through the bars. There! If anyone found it down there, they were welcome to it. And almost with relief she returned to put on the red ruffled dress and being laughed at by her class mates.

Richard Wilkins III was driven back to town in a reflective mood. It had been a good day, almost perfect, except that when there had been no terrified screaming or shouting, he’d known young Amanda must have thrown the egg away. Well, he still had a chest full of fun - he could arrange for them all to be handed out.

The Mayor sighed. It was a shame, though, that today’s egg had been lost. The blood and death would have made such a good ending to the festival. Amanda had spoilt his happy day! As he massaged away the frown between his eyes - he hated wrinkles – he couldn’t believe that his plans had been thwarted by a small girl. Well, he would make sure that never happened again! From now on there would be No More Mr Nice Guy!

 

ends


End file.
